


this is the art of living with a ticking heart

by malfaisant



Category: Marvel 616, Marvel Ultimates
Genre: M/M, Self-cest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 22:33:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malfaisant/pseuds/malfaisant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This version of himself wasn't evil, or at least not obviously so. Not a deformed half-cyborg monstrosity, which Tony was counting from experience as a plus in the 'not a supervillain' column. No, this Tony was leaner than the person he saw looking at a mirror, all sharp angles and not as much of his modest bulk, and perhaps surprisingly pale, bordering on sickly. Otherwise though, everything else was the same—the same blue eyes, the same smart hands, the same blatant, rude charm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this is the art of living with a ticking heart

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [This is the art of living with a ticking heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7619203) by [3MarcMolin18](https://archiveofourown.org/users/3MarcMolin18/pseuds/3MarcMolin18)



> ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm wow okay
> 
> timeline-wise, set anytime after Spider-Men and AvX? but before the current Marvel NOW runs (think kelly sue's _Assemble_ ). title from the poem _advice from dionysus_.

When he first arrived in their universe, sporting something that looked like the armor from fifty models ago, Tony could only sigh, and hope this version wasn't evil.

"You followed me here!" Spider-Man said, pointing at the other Tony Stark accusingly. He turned to the rest of the other Avengers. "Black Nick Fury told him to stay behind and everything."

"Black Nick Fury?" Carol asked interestedly, because, yeah, in a sentence that included reality-jumping and alternate universes, that was the most interesting question in that particular example.

By which Tony meant, they were Avengers, and any week when there wasn't an inter-dimensional mishap could probably be logged as vacation time. This would all be pretty standard fare, _boring_ , if it didn't, well, include him.

The other Tony shrugged, still holding the weirdly shaped helmet of his armor under one arm. "Personally, I just refer to him as Nick Fury, but to each their own," he said, before smiling widely, extending out a hand. "Ms. Danvers, I presume? Excellent costume, always said you'd make a fine superhero."

This version of himself wasn't evil, or at least not obviously so. Not a deformed half-cyborg monstrosity, which Tony was counting from experience as a plus in the 'not a supervillain' column. No, this Tony was leaner than the person he saw looking at a mirror, all sharp angles and not as much of his modest bulk, and perhaps surprisingly pale, bordering on sickly. Otherwise though, everything else was the same—the same blue eyes, the same smart hands, the same blatant, rude charm.

The other Tony took Carol's hand and kissed it even as she rolled her eyes. "Is that a smart move to make on someone who can zap your face off with an energy blast from her fingertips?"

He arched an eyebrow in response, but just smiled wider. "As beautiful as you are dangerous as always then, although that part's definitely new."

Carol's expression fell. "I don’t have powers where you’re from."

"Well, no. Former Air Force pilot, and currently you're the Chief of Staff to President Rogers," said the other Tony. Carol made a face and Steve became flustered in response.

“P-president!?” Steve blurted.

“Chief of Staff?”

Tony crossed his arms across his chest, the beginnings of a headache already making itself at home in his skull. "Already it says so much about the world you come from that Captains Marvel and America are involved in politics."

“Brilliant! So do you have anything to drink around here?”

*

The other Tony—for simplicity's sake, Tony had taken to calling him Anthony in his head—Anthony was definitely a problem waiting to happen, and the wisest course of action would undoubtedly be to send him back to the universe where he came from. But Anthony insisted he was here for truly benign purposes, and so refused to tell them the means of how he came to their Earth, and how he planned on getting back.

Alternatively, Tony could chuck him out of the tower and let him fend for himself, but Tony blanched at the idea of letting any variation of Tony Stark roam freely around New York, so he'd been put under house arrest in the tower.

“If you’re anything like me, you wouldn’t let me walk around your city unsupervised, so I guess I’m staying here,” said Anthony, voicing Tony’s own thoughts aloud.

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “You are planning on going back, right?”

Anthony raised a glass of scotch at him in a small salute. “Yes, darling, just relax. I won’t break anything I can’t replace.”

When his double smiled, it was all teeth and sharp edges, and Tony had to wonder if _he_ always looked like he was about to go for someone’s neck when he smiled. He hoped not. He saved that sort of expression for special occasions.

*

The problem of the other Tony—Anthony—persisted for the week, as the man refused Tony’s requests to just go back where he came from, or at least to answer the question of _when_ he intended to go back where he came from. Instead, he just gave a dismissive wave of his hand and continued to shadow Tony around, occasionally asking for the specs of something he found in the workshop, or a drink from the bar he kept stocked for guests.

Tony wondered if he’d get this nuisance (hard to admit of someone as handsome as himself, but that’s what he was) out of his hair before he drank him out of house and home. It was a race between his obscene wealth and this other Tony’s liver.

God, did he really use to drink so much?

For the Avengers, it had been a surprisingly uneventful week, no major world-ending catastrophies or supervillains destroying New York, not even a single downed quinjet. But Tony had lived through too much to think of this quiet as anything other than a calm before a storm, yet without a concrete threat to fixate on, he had to focus that alertness (Steve would say paranoia) on his intruding double. Tony had confiscated Anthony’s armor, promising to return it to him when he returned to his native universe, and Anthony had agreed with barely a shrug. _Huh_. Interesting how seemingly unattached this version of him was to his armor. Tony himself wouldn’t have let anyone take Iron Man away from him had he been in his doppelganger’s place.

Then again, _he_ didn’t go gallivanting around in other universes for no reason other than what seemed to be boredom.

So Tony considered his double warily, even though he was armor-less, and drunk most of the time, and Spider-Man had vouched that this Tony Stark had helped him when he was stranded in his universe (which by the way, when did the kid even find the timeto be stranded in other universes?). He was still _a_ Tony Stark, after all.

But then again, no one else was as bothered by his counterpart’s presence as Tony was, and maybe it had to do with the fact that none of them had to deal with the fact that there was _another one of themselves_ running around his tower.

Especially not a more touchy-feely version of themselves either, as currently evidenced by the way this Tony was practically wrapped around Steve. Part of the team was seated at the kitchen’s island table for dinner, Carol and Jessica Drew seated across Anthony and Steve, Spider-Man hanging from the ceiling above them. Anthony had an arm draped around Steve, their chairs close enough that their legs were flush, his foot sealed over one of Steve’s as he regaled them with stories of President Captain America.

“And so he’s got the guy on the ground and he’s kicked his head off, and it’s a big finale, big fanfare, explosions, and then he shouts ‘do you think the letter on my head stands for France?!’”

Carol and Jessica roared into boisterous laughter, and Steve smiled exasperatedly at Anthony. “I’d never say that. God help me, I’d retire first.”

“Help you? Imagine being your Chief of Staff!” said Carol.

“What, Carol, you don’t think he’s inspirational?” Jessica said with a grin.

“I don’t know about you, but ‘America is my White House’ is still my favorite,” Spider-Man interjected with barely stifled laughter. “I think I’m rewriting my will to have that engraved on my tombstone.”

“I’ll never live these down and it wasn’t even me who said them!”

Anthony only smiled, looking more like a feral cat by the second, and said, “Oh, I think you’re plenty inspirational, Cap.”

Tony recognized that wide leer and those bedroom eyes all too well, and took that as his cue to come in and drag Anthony away before he was struck by further fits of inspiration. He hooked a hand on Anthony’s elbow and pulled him aside with a hasty excuse about having to discuss armor specs, before dragging him to the living room.

“Can you be anymore obvious?” Tony said in a hushed whisper in the living room, careful not to look too tense while still in full-view of the rest of the team.

“Oh, not anymore than you, I'd suppose,” replied Anthony, already trying to make his way back to the other Avengers. “What, you’re not closeted or anything, are you?”

Tony rolled his eyes and grabbed his wrist. “There’s a difference between being closeted and being discreet. You don’t have to be so _loud_ —“

Their argument was interrupted by the entrance of Natasha and Clint following closely behind her. They came in the tower, exhaustion evident even through their precise control of body language, and Tony would wager they’d just finished another SHIELD mission. Clint made a beeline for the sandwiches, while Natasha stayed in the foyer, pointing a thumb at their direction.

“Since no one else is alarmed that there are two Tony Starks at the center of the living room, I’m going to assume that’s not a problem?” she asked, and received a chorus of no’s in response. She shrugged.

But beside Tony, his doppelganger had gone pale white, the first time Tony had seen an expression on that face that wasn’t careless charm. He retreated a couple of steps, before muttering a small ‘excuse me’ and hastily leaving the room.

He was terrified of Natasha?

Everyone turned to stare at the Black Widow, whose expression was curious, but remained impassive. "Was it something I said?" she said flatly.

Tony frowned and ran after his double, following him to his own bedroom on the topmost level of the tower’s living quarters. He stopped at the doorway and looked at where his doppelganger sat on his bed, facing the window, elbows resting on his knees as he stared at the carpet contemplatively.

Tony wondered if this was what an out-of-body experience felt like, before dismissing the thought, because that was very close to magic and magic was stupid.

“Were you ever involved with that woman?” Anthony said after a long silence. His voice was toneless, as though his mind were elsewhere.

“Black Widow?” Tony thought about his history with Natasha, and of the rocky, ill-devised beginning of their acquaintance. “Briefly. Didn’t work out because she was still evil at the time? Funny in hindsight, but that was a while ago—Natasha’s been an Avenger for almost as long as me.”

Anthony nodded, as if he expected nothing less. That familiar mouth curved into a cynical smile. “Of course. _Of course_ she’d actually be good, in this universe.”

For some reason, the statement roused something in Tony, some irrational sense of indignation at the implication of those words. Tony’s hands curled into fists at his sides, his voice full of unintended venom. “We’ve suffered through more things than you’d ever guess. We’ve lost things too. I’ve lost things.”

The other Tony Stark looked up from where he’d still been focused on the floor, a look of surprise on his face. He took in the tense line of his counterpart’s shoulders, the rigid set of his jaw, before he gave a humorless laugh. “It’s not a competition, darling.”

He stood up, and stalked towards where Tony had been standing in the doorway of his bedroom. He stopped right in front of him, uncomfortably close, doing an uncanny impression of a mirror that couldn’t be bothered enough to even reflect him properly. If Anthony were only his reflection, his brow should be furrowed in confusion, his mouth a thin line, instead of the kind, mirthless smile he currently sported.

Anthony’s half-lidded eyes flickered down to Tony’s lips, the stare lingering a second too long, before darting back up to look at eyes the same blue as his. Tony swallowed at the sudden proximity, the suggestion ringing loud and clear, but he didn’t step away like he probably ought to have.

He cleared his throat before speaking again. “You have no idea of the things I’ve had to sacrifice.”

“No, I don’t,” said Anthony, snaking his hands around Tony’s waist, closing the little distance between their bodies, his thumbs brushing the hard line of his stomach. He whispered the words against Tony’s mouth, as close to shoving the words down his throat. “But don’t you ever think about what a luxury it is to have things to sacrifice?”

Anthony closed his eyes as he put his mouth on Tony, bringing one of his hands up to cup his jaw, the other hand moving to the small of his back and pulling him forward. The experience was surreal, but perhaps not exactly unprecedented, Tony thought, pushing memories of Henry Hellrung to the back of his mind. No need to make this situation (masturbation or incest?) more confusing than it needed to be without adding _déjà vu_ to the bag.

Anthony tasted like whiskey. He broke the kiss as he unbuttoned Tony’s shirt, one hand coming to a rest over the arc reactor. “You can’t say you haven’t thought about this.”

“And neither can you.”

His doppelganger looked at the light at the center of Tony's chest but didn't say anything. His mouth returned on Tony's, excruciatingly warm, and his fingers wrapped around the back of his neck as he pulled Tony forward. Tony didn’t know why he let himself be led, because this was a dangerous level of narcissism to aspire to even for him. Instead, he settled his hands on his counterpart’s hips ( _he’s so much thinner than I am_ ) and deepened the kiss.

They reached the bed, and Anthony toppled backwards onto the mattress and pulled Tony down with him, forcing him to break the fall on his hands and knees. But before Tony could even register that they weren’t standing anymore, Anthony had flipped their positions. Tony was suddenly the one on his back, leaning up and resting on his elbows, while his doppelganger straddled him, knees on either side of his hips.

A pause, in which their identical panting breaths were the only noises in the room, before his double spoke. “Do you really want to know why I came here?” Anthony leaned back, still smirking, and god, no wonder so many people hated him, if his face always looked that punchable. “I was wondering what type of universe it was where I don't drink."

Tony tilted his chin challengingly. “I stopped. But only when it nearly took everything from me.”

“Oh, dearest Anthony.” The other Tony curled his body forward, teeth bared in a grin, voice thick with arousal and bitterness. “You can only lose things you had in the first place.”

He sunk those teeth lightly on Tony’s throat, grazing the hollows of his collarbone, while his fingers worked at unbuckling Tony’s belt and pushing his trousers down to his thighs. Tony unbuttoned Anthony’s shirt and rested his hands on his hips as he thrust and grinded up against him.

 “So what’s all this? A compensation prize for who’s had a shittier life? Or punishment?”

"Either or, though I do so enjoy fucking people who look like me," said Anthony as he suddenly drew back, his fingers palming Tony’s erection through his underwear. "How do you feel about dyeing your hair blond?"

Tony arched an eyebrow, and thought of the number of times he had bleached his hair to go underground, on the run from people trying to kill him. "Terribly," he said, "Blond isn't really my color. Why?”

Anthony looked bored as he contemplated Tony’s mouth. "Would you believe me if I said curiosity?"

"No."

"Then I guess you'll just have to use your imagination. So how do we want to do this?”

Tony reached into his bedside drawer while Anthony shucked off all the rest of his clothes, leaving them in a crumpled pile on the floor. Tony held out a condom and a small plastic jar of lubricant. “I don’t bottom.”

“Tsk tsk, darling.” Anthony took the condom in one hand and set the lube on the bed beside them. “It’s not good to limit yourself. By the way, how _are_ you compartmentalizing the current situation in your mind right now?”

“I’m _not_ closeted. And you’re me, so are you really surprised that I wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to fuck myself?” Tony said, the sneer on his face dripping with as much vulgarity as he could muster.

“Oh, and so what is it, you’ve only sucked a cock or ten? You poor thing.” His doppelganger interrupted whatever retort Tony had with another kiss, shoving his tongue in his mouth and quashing the indignant reply in his throat. Tony kissed back, sucking on the offered tongue, moaning as he felt a hand tug down his underwear and wrap around his dick. Calloused fingers stroked his cock to full hardness, and then a telltale rip, followed by a condom being rolled down his length.

Anthony was back on his lap when he poured the lubricant onto his own hand and shoved two fingers into himself with no preamble. And fuck, that was him, wasn’t it, writhing and panting as he fucked himself on his own fingers? That was how Tony would look like ( _does look like_ ), so desperate and indescribably depraved, and Tony was suddenly hyperaware of the fact that he was still almost fully clothed while his double was completely naked, legs spread wide apart as he straddled him. Tony stroked Anthony’s cock in earnest while Anthony added a third finger.

Anthony’s face was flushed, his sweat-slick hair bunched in clumps on his forehead, when he’d decided he was stretched enough, and it was too soon for him to actually be but Tony let him anyway, let him position the head of Tony’s cock on his hole. Anthony’s mouth was open in breathy exhales as he slowly took Tony in, until the whole length of his cock was in him.

His doppelganger’s voice, when he spoke, was strained, stuttering and punctuated by moans. “Haven’t you ever wondered what you look like impaled on a cock? What you look like riding someone? Who should it be, then? Thor? Wolverine? Thor would be huge, almost more than what we could take, I’d always thought—and surely you’ve imagined yourself with the captain, I see how you look at him. He’d be so _good_ to you, your captain, s-strong and kind and gentle, ‘cause he knows just how breakable we are.”

He rested the flat of his palms on Tony’s shoulders for leverage as he rode him, thrusting himself up and down on Tony’s cock. “Hardly like my own captain, oh no, my Steve would—ahh—barely let me suck his cock unless he could pretend I was some blushing damsel. Old habits, y’know, but maybe you’d like that? Steve Rogers fucking your pretty mouth with none of his kindness and restraint until he comes down your throat—“

Tony groaned at the tight heat around his cock, at the insidious words whispered into his ears. He gripped Anthony’s hips with bruising force, and with each upward thrust, he saw the image of himself writhe and moan shamelessly, eyelids fluttering but never closing, that sharp blue gaze always focused on him.

His doppelganger’s words came in a constant stream even as he rode Tony at a relentless, vicious pace. Tony tried and failed to catch his breath, as what sounded like his own voice whispered in his ears—his own voice, both familiar and totally alien as it came out of a mouth not his own to murmur those words, to moan so openly and obscenely without his permission.

“Or maybe, ahh, Rhodes? You’re better friends with your Rhodey than I am with mine.” Tony could feel how close he was, and his thrusts went deeper and faster, so fast as to even stutter the dirty litany of his double. “Maybe you’ve already done this with him. You’d let him fuck you, wouldn’t you, darling? Fuck, I—ahh—faster _faster you fuck—_ “

Anthony stroked his own cock in the rhythm of Tony’s thrusts, and the nails of his other hand dug into Tony’s biceps. His doppelganger’s body arched, curved taut as a bowstring as he came, his come striping Tony’s chest and stomach. He shuddered violently, his muscles clenching around Tony’s cock, and it was almost too much, pleasure keening on pain. Tony’s thrusts turned erratic as his own orgasm hit him, and he muffled his shouts on Anthony’s throat—Anthony was moaning enough for the both of them, anyway.

His counterpart had collapsed beside him on the bed, sated and obstinately quiet in his afterglow. After taking a moment to regain his breath and whatever semblance of higher brain function he could assemble, Tony cleaned himself off, shed the rest of his clothes and tossed them over the edge of the bed. The cool air was a balm on his exerted body.

In the nighttime-dark of the bedroom, the slants of city-lights and the glow of the arc reactor fell steeply on Anthony’s too-thin body. He was all too pale, all too lonely.

Did he ever look that lonely?

Tony idly thought his counterpart deserved better comfort than him before he drifted off to sleep.

*

“So how about it? Instructions for dimension hopping for the specs of the latest RT?

“It’s fine, done. The specs are in your suit.”

“And here I was prepared for some of your recalcitrance.”

“Surprisingly enough, I’m okay with it, as it’s technically just me trading with myself. But how do you have a reliable interuniversal transporter when your technology’s barely made it to the Mark VII?”

 “It was a simple matter of reverse engineering the device I’d already helped fixed. If a two-bit villain like Mysterio could make this, it would hardly be trouble for someone like me, would it?”

“…Any insults I throw at you backfires because you’re also technically me, got it.”

“As clever as you are handsome, darling.”

“You don’t want to wait for the team to come back? They’re due back from the Savage Land in a couple of hours, and they’ll ask about you.”

“I don’t want a farewell party. They’re well off enough. Just give my regards to Rogers, wouldn’t you? Or Thor, I’m not picky.”

“No.”

“Suit yourself, sourpuss.”

A column of swirling violet energy appeared as the device was activated. The heavy clunk of metal reverberated through the workshop as armored feet made its way to the center.

“Well, it’s been fun. Don’t wait too long, you know?”

“Too long for what?”

“With the burden of having everything comes the burden of having far too much to lose.” 

“Don’t drink yourself to death.”

Laughter rang as the mass of energy dissipated. Tony gave a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to will the image of his doppelganger from his mind. A small sad smile, reminiscent of a man walking to the gallows.

 _It can’t be all that bad, you miserable bastard,_ he thought, and brushed Anthony’s words from his mind.

Tony Stark always gave such shit advice.


End file.
